


the universe of you

by Anonymous



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Hershel Layton, Claire Lives AU, Claire is demi, F/M, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Trans Hershel Layton, they Make Love bc it feels nice and it makes them feel connected, they are so in love.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: With Claire, he feels safe. She is patient and understanding, always making sure he is at ease. The experience is still different for him than for others, he concludes, but the closeness the act creates with this incredible woman beside him makes his heart swell in his chest and flood his veins with love and admiration.
Relationships: Claire/Hershel Layton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	the universe of you

**Author's Note:**

> it has been a few years since I moved on from the layton series, but the announcement for the unwound future hd port gave me a little recollection of how much of an impact hershel and claire had on me. I wrote this years ago bc I was very frustrated with the lack of intimate fics of them but I kept it to myself. now I thought I might as well share it in case anyone felt the same.
> 
> also obviously a canon where claire lived and they got married bc I said so and level5 can't take it from me.

It had been a very long day for Hershel.

Shoulders and back ache from hefting one too many boxes of textbooks up the steps to his office. Knees protest after hours of teaching, pacing back and forth across the front of the packed lecture hall. Lungs exhausted from projecting his reserved voice to carry over said packed lecture hall. He was stuck on campus with a mountain of papers to grade and could not break free until 8 o’clock.

However, Claire’s smiling face greeting him as he walked through the door lessened the strain. Radiant like sunshine. They made a light dinner and discussed whatever came to mind, whether it was how their days had been at their places of work, current events, and perhaps a puzzle or two. Talking with his wife always calmed the various physical and emotional knots he acquired.

Now he can rest. After changing into his nightclothes he deposits himself in an ungraceful manner on his half of the bed, face first into the mattress with limbs sprawled. Claire looks up from the novel in her hands and gives a light laugh before reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Tired?”

“Mmph,” he grunts, nodding.

Another giggle makes his heart flutter. He turns his head to the side to smile at the physicist, but he is confused to see her placing her book on the nightstand, followed by her glasses. Hershel frowns. “You can keep reading.”

Claire just gives him a smile. “No, it’s fine. I’m tired, too.” She leans over and kisses the top of his head. “Come on, then.” She grips the duvet and sheets, pulling them aside so her husband can join her beneath them. Hershel settles beside her and already feels himself fighting a losing battle with sleep, a heavy weight tethered to every limb.

Cool darkness swallows them with a soft click.

Before Hershel’s eyes can adjust to the gloom, gentle lips curved into a grin press to his. Claire snuggles up to him, rubbing her head against his torso and sending tresses of auburn tickling his face. He can’t help but give a quiet chuckle. She’s so warm and  _ there, _ and he couldn’t be more grateful.

The professor nuzzles the top of his wife’s head, searches for her hand under the dim canopy surrounding them. Her fingers squeeze back, but then his hand begins to move under an accord that’s not his own. A soft kiss meets his fingers.

Claire’s mouth trails over each knuckle, hot breath sending goosebumps up his arm. Slow and deliberate, so light he has to focus in order to feel her graze against his skin. Warmth spreads across his cheeks at the intimate contact, and he wonders if she will notice in the dim light.

A soft smile up at him proves that she does. The pale violet light passing through the curtains catches a glint of affection in her gentle eyes. “Is this all right?”

Hershel blinks, then returns her smile with his own and nods. Elated by the encouragement, Claire’s kisses wander further, over the back of his hand, tracing up his wrist. Forearm, shoulder, neck. The tension scouring his being lessens with each soft brush of fingers and lips.

“If you don’t mind me asking, is this for anything special?” he says, his breath skipping. This wasn’t what he had been expecting when he got home; not that he minded, but he still wondered what brought it on.

His wife shrugs and glances up from the reddened patch of skin she left on his neck. “I just love you and want to make you feel nice,” she replies with a smile. “Is that okay?”

The professor feels heat spill across his face and wash through his belly, her desire to make him feel loved filling him from head to toe. Physical intimacy was not something they took part in often, nor felt a particular need for a majority of the time, but every once in a while the mood would strike. Now seemed to be one of those “once”s, and that was fine by him. With a nod, he tips toward her and meets her lips.

Every step is preceded by her checks for confirmation against his skin. “May I touch you here? Does that feel good?” The answer continues to be a soft “Yes,” but the fact that she asks means the world to him.

Soon he is sitting up, Claire situated on his thighs. His shirt is unbuttoned, and the hem of her nightgown is eased up to her ribs. Knowing hands move to those perfect spots that make her giggle and his breathing grow heavy. Kisses over jawlines, down necks, across the bends of collarbones.

A drowsy fog still hovers in their movements and minds, but somehow that makes it all feel sweeter, more tender.

The physicist wriggles the rest of the way out of her nightgown, casting the article onto the floor. She then assists her husband in removing his shirt and trousers and discards them to settle next to her clothes on the carpet. For a moment, they just hold each other, smiling as they press their foreheads together. Content in the silence and company.

His hands trace over her shoulders, following the curve of her neck. He stops where they meet and looks to her for confirmation. Her eyes flutter open, half-lidded and warm. “Go ahead.”

Soft kisses to the exposed flesh of her chest make her nibble her bottom lip and release a deep, grateful sigh. She settles deeper into his lap, a non-verbal request to go further. He would not deny her. Drawing a flushed tip into his mouth, he rolls his tongue, and she shivers in his arms. After giving the same treatment to its mirrored companion, he is paused by his wife, whose fond gaze rests upon him while she gives his chest a light nudge.

Following the gesture, Hershel lays back against the downy pillows, and Claire curls beside him before pulling him back in for a kiss. They become a tangle of arms and legs, soft pecks to noses and foreheads. Little smiles and gentle caresses over skin. The professor rests his cheek on his beloved’s shoulder as they nestle side-by-side, relishing in the warmth and closeness as she runs her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck.

He never thought he would be like this with anyone, feel like this with anyone. The world of intimacy was still a bizarre realm that filled him with doubt and confusion, like he was missing something that was never there in the first place.

Something others feel but he cannot fathom. A detachment and numbness he could not name.

With Claire, however, he feels safe. She is patient and understanding, always making sure he is at ease. The experience is still different for him than for others, he concludes, but the closeness the act creates with this incredible woman beside him makes his heart swell in his chest and flood his veins with love and admiration.

Her brilliant smile, face flushed from pleasure and laughter, the fondness brimming in her eyes as she presses against him and makes him feel like he’s floating on air.

Warm fingertips trailing down his stomach bring him back to the present. A soft gasp escapes his throat, and Claire chuckles. “You’re so cute,” she whispers as she leans over to kiss his cheek.

The tips of his ears tingle as a flustered grin scrawls across his lips. “As are you,” he mutters.

Her smile grows. “Thank you,” she says before their lips meet once again. She settles her head back on the pillows, her fingers knitting with his. Her free hand tiptoes across his chest. “Still doing all right?”

“Mmhm,” is his soft reply. He brushes a kiss to the crown of her head. “We can keep going.”

Her fingers continue to dance over Hershel’s torso until she takes a light hold of his hand and slides it down her stomach. Goosebumps follow in the wake of his touch as it draws closer to her core. He meets thin fabric, the warmth beneath, and she lets out a low, wonderful sound like all the tension woven through her is being released.

Her mouth captures his, arms snaking around his neck to keep him there. As if he would ever break away. She soon leans back, air pulling deep into her lungs as she welcomes his affections. One of her hands remains on his own while the other rests on his upper arm, and she tucks her head beneath his chin. _ "Hershel," _ she sighs into his neck.

It all makes her husband’s head feel fuzzy and light. He runs his unoccupied hand through her waves of hair, kisses along her forehead and brow as she holds onto him. “I’ve got you,” he mumbles.

Her legs begin to quake beneath his touch, but it’s too soon for Claire’s liking. A tap on his knuckle signals her thoughts. She shifts back, smiling as she works to catch her breath. Her hands rest on Hershel’s stomach, fingers kneading at his bit of paunch.

“May I?”

A flushed smile of his own pulls at his lips, and he gives her a nod. She acknowledges it with a peck on his forehead.

Claire’s thumbs brush over the twin scars on Hershel’s chest with such tenderness; she gives them each a kiss before continuing. Touches travel further down, passing his navel, his hips, the waist of his shorts. Anticipation builds in his stomach, rising to a boil.

The tip of her finger connects with his most sensitive spot. A shudder wracks through him, breath hitching in his throat. Hershel allows himself to melt into her ministrations as soft gasps break from his lungs.

A light buzz ebbs through every limb, and he feels himself slipping away into the euphoria curling his toes. He grapples at the sheets, seeking a hold to keep himself from getting too lost. He angles his head to look at his sweetheart.

She beams up at him and rests a palm on his burning cheek, her wedding band cool against his skin, and his stomach does somersaults. She’s beautiful and glowing, fiery hair and rosy cheeks, and she loves  _ him _ of all people, and he still can’t believe it after all these years.

Remaining barriers are tossed away by Claire’s deft hands. Her form is back on top of Hershel in an instant, kissing him, holding him. He does his best to reciprocate as well as he can, and the giddy laughter he elicits from her is all the reward he needs.

Freckles, so many freckles. Infinite constellations spreading far and wide, tracing them with his fingertips. Mapping and charting. If he ever gets lost, he will know the way home.

He would kiss every last one if she let him, but whenever he tried it was never long before her saint like patience was expended and they got back to business. Perhaps one day he would be able to give each wonderful mark the love it deserved.

He traces a hand down the curves of her left side, feeling the texture of the scars that pucker her skin, before reaching up to rest it at the small of her back. She sighs a pleased hum and nuzzles his jawline.

“Ready?” she asks, her breath ghosting over Hershel’s skin.

“Yes.” He gives her cheek a soft kiss.

Her left leg straddles over his, thighs pressed against heat. Trembling at the friction. Pressed upon the pillow beneath him, her forearms cradle his head. His own arms wrapping around her back and holding her close, her breath hot on his collarbone. “Claire,” he hears himself whisper.

She kisses up his neck, her fingers brushing through his hair. “Yes, my dear?” she says, her voice husky, somewhere between a murmur and a moan. A shiver races up Hershel’s spine.

“I love you,” he shudders out, “I love you so much.” His eyes are so heavy, he wants to submerge himself in her aura or presence or whatever he can’t find the proper word but  _ her. _ So safe, warm, kind.

She pauses her ministrations to lean up and look him in the eye. Her flushed face, her gentle smile, her hands cupping his jaw. “I love you, too.”

How she manages to reduce him to a sappy, grinning mass of putty with so few words Hershel will never know. And then, of course, that makes Claire begin to giggle, and he can’t resist laughing along, which soon results in them being a gleeful mess echoing off each other’s adoration.

The physicist leans down to meet her husband’s lips with hers. It’s fumbling and clumsy, but neither of them mind.

There’s a roll of her hips against his, and stars burst within him. He must have let out a noise, as Claire is shining like she always does when tackling a challenging equation. Again, and then it all gets muddled in the warm, fuzzy haze.

Bodies pressing and moving together, struggling to get closer than close and feel the other’s embrace and touch. Foreheads bump, followed by breathless laughter, and they decide to remain that way. Hair slicking to each other’s skin, tangled waves of curls, rich brown weaving into vibrant orange.

The world fades to nothing but her warmth and smell and voice as if they are the only two in existence. Her hair and skin of autumn trees and lavender fields. She is the earth and sky and beyond, the universe. A building wave growing nearer and nearer, her fingertips burying into his hair and trailing over his scalp. Names whispered back and forth in a breathless mantra for their ears alone laced with sweet nothings.

It is not long before Claire’s legs begin to shudder around his thigh; she’s so close. Breathing his name, eyes closed in her bliss as she grinds against him. The sight and sensation could make him crumble right then and there, but instead he wraps his arms around her and follows her hips to help her reach that final peak. In turn she latches onto him, lavishing him with kisses and touches and every gasp is followed by a deep, throaty laugh and his name and he can’t take much more or his chest may burst in two.

All he can do is keep moving, keep feeling, keep whispering her name with each rough fill of his lungs. He reaches a shaking hand between them to where their bodies meet. Small, even circles. He feels a jolt course through his wife’s body.

“ _ Hershel," _ she groans into his ear, faint but pouring from her lips like a song. Her entire being tenses around him, is overtaken with quaking as she presses against him. She leans back, holding his head in her hands, looking into his eyes with such praise as she fights for air. A smile still glimmers on her face.

Everything comes breaking down. “C- _ Claire," _ he chokes, wave cresting.

Somehow he registers her mouth upon his.

It all does him in.

Shaking, every nerve vibrating with electricity, white hot and overwhelming.  _ Claire Claire Claire Claire Claire Claire Claire, _ clinging to her like she is an anchor in a rolling sea. Like he will drift away without her to keep him grounded.

Stomach doing backflips, tight yet at last feeling a needed release. Deep gasps against her skin, the lavender scent that hovers about her like a halo flooding his senses as their bound racing pulses ripple through him.

Heat pounds in his body, soon receding to a rhythmic drum.

Tension fades, every muscle lax and spent as the high dissipates but leaves a pleasant calm in its place.

The rest of the world returns; the pattering rain on the window, the caress of flannel sheets against their flushed skin, and the furniture about the room hinted with soft blues and indigos that emerges from the shadows. Heartbeats slow to a light hum from head to toe, and heavy breaths pacify to steady pulls of air. The pair roll onto their sides, still facing each other as they phase back to reality. Shy smiles rest on their lips.

Claire’s fingers brush aside sweat-slicked bangs on Hershel’s brow. A sudden wave of embarrassment rushes through him, making him look to their entwined fingers between them on the pillow.

The hand squeezing his draws his attention back. His eyes flicker to hers in the darkness. “You all right?” Claire whispers, concern edging her words and brow.

Hershel gives a tired smile. “Yes, you?”

Worry lifts from her features, replaced by a grin. A breathy sigh leaves her nose. “Yeah.”

The two huddle in close. Claire trails a hand across her husband’s shoulders and upper back while he drapes his arm to rest at her hip.

“Do you want to put clothes back on or-?” she asks, just to be certain.

Hershel buries his face against his wife’s neck. “No, this is good,” he murmurs. Exhaustion is taking a solid hold on him, coaxing him down.

The physicist is satisfied with that. She reaches down the bed and pulls the covers up around them before returning to their previous cuddling position. Warm, contented, tranquil.

“That was nice,” she breathes into his hair.

“Mm,” he mumbles in agreement.

One final kiss on the lips, lazy and warm. “I love you,” she hums against his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

Bodies entwined, basking in the afterglow and each other’s presence. Small caresses peak through the descending veil of sleep. Together they fall into its embrace.


End file.
